


As in love with you as I am

by feraldanvers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feraldanvers/pseuds/feraldanvers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere along the line, Bucky got the idea in his head to pray to find Steve's true love. It goes about as well as you'd expect. </p><p>Or: Sam is <i>not</i> a Cupid, Bucky is <i>not</i> in denial, and Steve is <i>absolutely</i> not in the mood to deal with any of this shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As in love with you as I am

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to celestialintent and santiagoinbflat for reading this over <3
> 
> Title from "Angels" by the xx because I'm nothing if not predictable.

“Bucky!” Steve yells, turning to direct it over his shoulder. He knows it's loud enough to be heard no matter where in the apartment Bucky is hiding, but unsurprisingly, Bucky doesn't show himself. “What in the hell did you do?”

The man standing in their cramped entryway—the _angel,_ for God’s sake—blinks at him.

“Hey, uh, maybe I can come back later?” He turns as if to leave, and Steve reaches out to catch him by the arm, because if he lets the guy leave now, he'll only come back later. Steve's hand brushes one of the man's wings as he does, though, and he jerks back, mortified. He's pretty sure you're not supposed to do that. The look the angel gives him when he turns back around only confirms it.

“No,” Steve huffs, “you're in the right place,” because Bucky’s been less than subtle lately, and in his mind this was probably the logical next step. “You wasted your time though, I'm sorry.”

“Listen,” the angel says, smiling at him, closed-mouthed and impatient. “I get where you're coming from, but this is kind of my job. I gotta have _something_ to report back, so you're stuck with me for now.”

“This is bullshit,” Steve mutters, turning to stomp back into his room and let Bucky deal with it, but as he turns the corner he smacks straight into the asshole’s chest. He scowls when Bucky grips his shoulder to steady him, shaking his hand off.

“Steve,” he says, “come on. You're being rude.” He looks sheepish, at least, but nowhere near as guilty as he should.

“ _I’m_ being rude?” Steve stares at him. “An angel shows up at our front door and says you prayed to find me a _date_ , and I'm the one who’s rude?”

“He didn't say it was me that did it,” Bucky argues pointlessly, and to his credit he only squirms a little when Steve keeps staring. “And it isn't for a date, Stevie. It's for, you know…”

“Don't say the words 'true love' to me, or I swear, Buck. I'll break your nose.” Steve knows his face is hot with embarrassment, but if he's lucky Bucky will just chalk it up to anger and move on.

“You'd have to reach it first,” Bucky says, smirking a little, as if the danger has already passed. “But seriously, did you leave that poor guy standing by the door with your smelly shoes?”

They both lean around the corner to check, and sure enough, the angel is still standing there. He's propped sideways against the wall, hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling. His whole demeanor is a neon sign that's clearly meant to read “I wasn't eavesdropping!” except for the way his toffee-colored wings are twitching behind him. Steve rolls his eyes before turning to head back out there.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he says reluctantly, sticking his hand out. “I'm Steve.”

“And I'm hungry,” the angel says, arms folded even though he's smiling faintly now. “I'll forgive your rudeness in exchange for breakfast, if you eat that sort of thing around here.”

“I like him,” Bucky decides, already on his way to the kitchen even though he's not wearing a shirt and his prosthetic is apparently still in his bedroom. Maybe the tight hold he keeps on his privacy doesn't matter as much around angels. The thought makes Steve’s fists clench.

“Nobody asked you. Are angels supposed to eat?” Steve asks, then shakes his head. “Don't answer that; I don't care. I'm getting a shower, and there better be coffee when I come out if I'm gonna deal with this shit.”

“He's a ray of sunshine, ain't he?” Bucky asks the angel as Steve walks away, and Steve is strong enough not to turn around and start yelling again, even when the angel just chuckles in response.

The angel’s name, it turns out, is Sam. By the time Steve gets out of the shower, Bucky is dressed and ready for work, and there's a plate of eggs and toast in front of Steve's usual seat. Steve would think it was groveling if Bucky didn’t have such a compulsive need to feed him all the time.

“Is it short for something?” Bucky asks. “Like…” He frowns when he can't come up with anything.

“Samachiel,” Sam says after a minute, nodding before shoveling some more eggs into his mouth.

“Really?” Steve and Bucky ask at the same time, and Sam stares at them both while he finishes chewing.

“ _No,_ it's just Sam. Samuel, if you wanna get technical, but I only get called that when I'm in trouble, so…” He shrugs, and then shakes his head with a smile. “Jesus. Are all humans as gullible as you two?”

“I'm not gullible,” Steve argues. “How am I supposed to know?”

Bucky looks a little nervous, and he leans in across the table. “Are you allowed to say, you know.” He mouths “Jesus” with wide eyes, and Steve can't help the laugh that comes out of him. They were both raised Catholic, so he _gets_ it, sort of, but still. Sam drops his napkin on the table, shaking his head and smirking.

“I think we’re getting off track here. Thanks for breakfast, but like I said, I have a job to do. Steve, can you tell me what kind of person you're looking for?”

Steve shakes his head, annoyance surging again. “It doesn't matter.”

“Come on, man, you have to give me something to work with here. What about gender, then we can narrow it down from there?”

“It doesn't matter,” Steve repeats, and when Sam looks at him with exasperation, he sighs. “I'm not trying to be difficult,” he clarifies with as much politeness as he can manage, which unfortunately isn't all that much. “I just don't have a preference, really.”

“Okay,” Sam says, “fair enough. Can you just…” He scratches his head. “Can you give me one thing? Just something to start with, that's it.”

Bucky’s been quiet for this whole exchange, just dragging his last bit of eggs back and forth through the puddle of ketchup on his plate because he's _disgusting_ , and Steve shakes his head.

“I guess…” He glares at the table. “I guess probably someone who wouldn't go behind my back and get an angel because they didn't think I could find somebody on my own. How's that for a start?”

When Bucky lets his fork clatter onto his plate and pushes back from the table, Steve almost wishes he could take it back, but Bucky doesn't look like he's in the mood to hear anything else.

“I gotta go to work,” he says roughly. “I'm sure you two got a lot to talk about, so I'll leave you to it.”

“Buck…” Steve says, but Bucky’s already out the door. He doesn't slam it, just closes it quietly behind him, but Steve feels it like a weight dropped on his shoulders.

“Ray of sunshine, huh?” Sam says, ticking an eyebrow up, and Steve—please let his mother, God rest her soul, never know of this—gives him the finger.

“I'm going back to bed. Make yourself at home, but don't invite anyone over or anything.”

“Who would I bring over?” Sam asks incredulously, and when Steve gestures vaguely between the two of them, he rolls his eyes. “This isn't an escort service, Rogers. Your virtue is safe for now.”

“For now,” Steve repeats in a mocking tone, and this time when he stomps back toward his bedroom there's no Bucky to block his way. He definitely slams the door.

\---

Steve hadn’t been expecting to fall back asleep, but apparently getting a heavenly wakeup call before seven a.m. was enough to wear him out. When he wakes up again, it’s to Bucky crawling into the bed next to him. Judging by the light peeking around the blackout curtains, it’s the middle of the day.

“Stevie,” Bucky whispers, poking him in the ribs. “You still mad?”

Steve rolls over onto his back, lifting his pillow to press it over his face. “Did you get fired?”

“What?” Bucky snatches the pillow away and frowns down at him. “No, I’m on lunch. Which is to say, it’s after noon, you’re in bed, and there’s an angel in our living room watching Netflix.”

“Fuck.” Steve makes a halfhearted grab for the pillow, flushing when Bucky lifts it out of reach with a smug smile. “Do I want to know?”

“Arrested Development,” Bucky tells him, shaking his head and rolling onto his back next to Steve to grin at the ceiling. “That can't be good for him. He's gonna lose hope for humanity, or something.”

“I'm sure getting saddled with me is enough to get the job done,” Steve grumbles, and Bucky's expression dims. “Why did you have to go and do that, anyway?”

Bucky's quiet for a minute, and when he finally answers, it's so quiet that he might as well be talking to himself. Steve catches “someone decent” and “look out for you,” and he'd be annoyed at Bucky for mumbling on Steve's bad side if he had any desire to hear what Bucky was telling him.

 _You look after me just fine,_ Steve doesn’t say. He presses his lips together in case the words decide to slip out on their own, but Bucky must misread the look on his face.

“Please don’t be mad, Steve.” His voice is low but clear, and he seems genuinely contrite, so Steve just shakes his head.

“’M not mad,” he promises. “I get it, anyway. You’re not gonna be around forever, right?” Bucky swallows and then shrugs. “God knows if I live on my own I’ll wind up choking to death on my own phlegm one of these days.” He laughs as he says it, but it sounds bitter even to his own ears. Bucky looks a little pale.

“Anyway, that’s a long ways away, pal, you're not getting rid of me yet. First we gotta find someone up to your standards, so you can get your rocks off for once.”

“Yeah, cause it’s _my_ standards that are the problem,” Steve mumbles.

“Either way, I told Sam the three of us would hit the bars tonight, so you may as well accept it now.”

“Bucky—”

“I know, I know, that’s not your scene, but look at it like this: You haven’t met anyone nice at your usual spots, have you? You have to shake it up, right?” Steve’s sure his face is making it abundantly clear what he thinks of that, but Bucky presses right past it. “Also, I heard his stomach growling, so I told him you’d take him to that hipster deli down the block.”

“What?” Steve sits up, blinking quickly when it puts him right in Bucky’s space. “I don’t think angels’ stomachs growl.”

“I know what I heard, and I saw him putting away those eggs this morning, so you better put on some pants and get out there.”

“Are you coming?” Steve tries not to sound too hopeful, but he doesn't think he succeeds.

“Nah, I figure you two need to get to know each other.” His face twists up a little. “Also, I wasn’t actually supposed to take lunch for this long, so I need to get back like ten minutes ago.”

Steve opens his mouth to protest Bucky skipping out of work, but Bucky looks so relieved that Steve’s not mad that Steve just pulls him in for a hug instead. If Bucky’s surprised huff of breath is any indication, he was expecting a lecture, so Steve figures he made the right move.

“Now get going, you jerk. You can’t pick up the tab tonight if you get yourself fired.”

“Hey now,” Bucky starts, pulling back. “I never said I would—”

“I bet angels can drink a lot,” Steve says with a sweet smile. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“Butter wouldn’t melt,” Bucky mutters as he climbs off the bed. “But really, would you please be nice? Sam seems cool enough, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t get paid to be here, so you could cut him a little slack.”

“Okay, fine,” Steve agrees. “But when this whole thing goes sideways—”

“I know, I’ll never hear the end of it. Believe me, I weighed that before I even got into this mess.” He’s smiling just enough to soften his words.

“You better get out of here before I shake you down for lunch money,” Steve says, making a shooing motion toward the door.

“Why, Steve, you absolute bully.” Bucky’s grinning now. “Make sure he tries the brisket, okay?”

“Whatever you say.” Steve lifts a hand as Bucky walks out of his room, and Bucky tosses a two fingered salute back at him. He leaves the bedroom door open, and Steve hears low voices for a minute before the front door opens and shuts again. Maybe it’s all in his head, but it sounds friendlier than it had that morning, and something settles in Steve’s chest.

\---

“I gotta tell you, man,” Sam says. “I didn’t think Bucky’d be able to talk you into making eye contact with me again today, much less a lunch date.”

  
“Yeah, well Bucky’s a persuasive pain in my ass.” Steve tugs his scarf a little tighter, eyes watering slightly in the chilled air. Sam’s wings are tucked away in another dimension, or whatever it is he does with them when you can't see them. He looks a little colder without them, but he doesn't complain. It might be Steve’s imagination.

They’re quiet most of the way to the deli; it’s only two blocks, but Sam’s eyes cover every square inch of their surroundings.

“What kind of tree is that?” he asks, pointing, and Steve snorts, because of _course_ that's the thing Sam chooses to ask about.

“Callery Pear.”

“Y’all have pear trees here?” Sam turns to Steve, grinning. “I wouldn’t have thought.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t really eat the fruit,” Steve says. He shrugs, then smirks to himself. “They’ll smell like semen once the weather starts warming up.” He cuts a look at Sam to gauge his reaction, blinking when that smile just gets wider. He’s got a little gap between his front teeth, and Steve feels reluctantly charmed.

“No shit?”

“No shit.” Steve catches his arm to steer him into the deli, mouth twitching when Sam’s wandering eyes catch sight of the frankly oversized menu board. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

“Buddy, you have no idea.”

They end up getting three sandwiches, because Sam wants a Reuben, but Bucky wasn't kidding about the brisket. Steve goes for a tuna melt since Bucky’s not there to make disgusted faces at him.

“So have you ever been to Brooklyn?” Steve asks after they sit down, and Sam shakes his head.

“I haven't even been down here,” he says, gesturing around them in a way Steve takes to mean ‘on Earth.’ “Not for a few years. And even then, my line of work hasn't brought me to New York since…” He laughs. “Well, let's just say I was hoping to see the Brooklyn Bridge while I'm here.”

“Seriously?” Steve asks, and Sam nods before taking a big bite of his sandwich. “You can't tell me nobody in this city has prayed for”—he wrinkles his nose—” _true love_ in the last century and a half.”

Sam shifts in his seat and takes another bite, chewing for a minute without meeting Steve’s eyes. “I don't know about that, actually.” He swallows. “This isn't, uh. This isn't my usual gig.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, a suspicion forming the longer Sam won't look at him.

“This might be my first ‘true love’ assignment,” he says, finally looking up. “But I have a good feeling—”

“ _What_?” Steve drops his sandwich onto his plate. “I got a, what, an amateur Cupid?”

“Excuse you,” Sam says, leaning forward. “I am _not_ a Cupid, you take that back.”

“I mean, of course,” Steve continues, ignoring him. “’Hey, this guy is a hopeless case, real low stakes, let's send the trainee out.’ That's some bullshit, Sam.” He jabs a finger in Sam’s direction.

“If you're finished badmouthing me, and calling me a…” He mouths _Cupid_ like he can't quite believe it. “That's not even a real angel, Steve.”

“What did you do before this?” Steve demands. “How’d you get stuck following me around? Did you get fired?”

Sam stiffens. “I'll tell you what, let's just forget the last thirty seconds of this conversation, and you can tell me something you find important in a romantic partner.”

“But I—”

“ _Steve._ ”

Steve slumps in his seat a little; seeing Sam actually looking bothered kind of takes the wind out of his sails. He knows he's not being nice—he can practically hear Bucky’s disappointed voice in his ear—but he doesn't actually want to be _mean_. That might not make any sense, but Sam is a nice enough guy, even if his whole mission on Earth is literally to ruin Steve’s week. Hell, who knows how long it will even take? Is there a time limit, a ‘well, we gave it our best shot, but looks like you're going to die alone’ deadline?

“I don't know,” Steve says after a minute, when he remembers that Sam had asked him a question, and it's true. He doesn't exactly spend a lot of time imagining his dream partner, not when… well. He swallows, picking at his half-eaten sandwich. “I guess I'd just like someone I can be comfortable with, you know? I spent too much time trying to pretend I was more than I was, and even longer than that trying to make up for what I was by picking fights every chance I got.”

“And what are you?” Sam asks. His forehead is wrinkled a little, and having all that sincere attention focused on him makes Steve squirm as he gestures at himself.

“It's not like you can't see,” Steve says. “I’m sick all the time, I'm all but deaf in one ear, my spine looks like a spaghetti noodle, and it's not like I'm especially gifted when it comes to this.” He waves a hand at his face, feeling it flush at that burst of honesty.

“I don't know about that,” Sam says. His mouth curls up a little. “I think you're pretty cute, at least when you're not insulting me and slamming doors.”

Steve’s glad his face was already red, because he feels it get even hotter at that. He searches Sam’s expression for any kind of mockery, but there's none there.

“Well, at least when you're talking me up, you won't have to lie too much, I guess.” Steve offers a weak smile, like an olive branch.

“I don't lie,” Sam protests with mock indignation. “I’ll have you know I'm a holy being. “ Steve snorts. “And besides, if anyone is going to be talking you up, I think it should be your buddy. He knows you better than I do, and he's the one who suggested we go out tonight.”

“Yeah, the day Bucky convinces someone I'm worth their time will be a cold one in hell.” Steve shakes his head. “We used to go on double dates all the time, you know? He'd tell whatever lies he had to tell to convince his date to bring a friend, and they'd get one look at me and start hunting for the exit.”

“I think you've just been meeting the wrong people,” Sam says. His eyes are soft, but not pitying, which keeps Steve’s hackles from rising too much. “From what I've seen, even though you _are_ kind of an asshole, every good thing he's said about you has been true enough.”

“Oh, come on. You two have barely spoken to each other.”

“Right.” Sam gives Steve an enigmatic smile. “But you're forgetting that I heard his prayer.”

Steve flushes again. “Oh, God, I don't even want to know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Well, I'm pretty sure you're not gonna tell me, so how about you let me preserve a little dignity?”

“I hate to break it to you, but you've had tuna on your shirt for the last ten minutes. I think that ship has sailed.”

Steve looks down as he reaches for his napkin, embarrassed despite himself, but his shirt looks clean. Sam's practically giggling to himself across the table, and Steve shoots him a dirty look.

“You know, for a holy being, you're kind of an asshole.”

“Would you believe that's not the first time someone's told me that?”

“Absolutely,” Steve says, smile widening when Sam laughs again. It's a really nice laugh, is all.

\---

When they get back to the apartment, the tension between them has all but dissipated, and Steve has to admit that it's a relief. It's not that he's come around to whatever matchmaking shit he's gotten stuck in the middle of—that's going to be a disaster, no two ways about it—but Sam's _nice,_ and he's just doing his job.

“I don't mean to ignore you again, but I sort of slept all morning, and I can't get behind on work.” He gestures at his computer. “I've actually got more commissions than usual, so I really need to make some progress if I'm going to be out all night.”

“All night?” Sam asks, settling back on their ratty sofa with a smile. “Sounds like you're feeling pretty optimistic, dude.”

“On the contrary,” Steve says drily. “I'm extremely _pessimistic_ , but I know that Bucky will hold out hope for me finding someone until the bars close and we have to stumble home.”

“He cares about you a lot, you know.” Sam's not looking at him, just carefully examining the remote control. “I know you're aggravated, but he just wants you to be happy.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve sits down at his desk and stares at his tablet, a lack of motivation dragging him down. “I think he's projecting his own ideas of happiness onto me, because I'm just fine the way things have been.”

“Sure,” Sam agrees easily. “I appreciate you going along with it, anyway. If I get dumped on my first day, I don't think they're going to give me many more of these jobs.”

“Well, we can't have that.” Steve looks over his shoulder to where Sam is intently scrolling through the channel guide. “They don't get cable up there?”

“Nah,” Sam says, shaking his head. “And I've never seen this many channels before.”

“We only have the basic package,” Steve tells him.

“Whatever, man.” He pulls up Netflix with practiced ease, which Steve assumes he picked up that morning while Steve was sleeping. “How many of these are there?” He's pointing at the screen, where he's got another episode of Arrested Development up. Steve feels the faint echo of Bucky's earlier concern, because if Sam doesn't watch a lot of television, this can't be his best option.

Steve shrugs inwardly, because Sam's a grown man. Sort of. “Uhh, I dunno. A couple seasons? They just did a new one.”

“I don't suppose I'll be here long enough to catch up,” Sam says wryly. “But if you're gonna leave me to my own devices, I can sure as hell try.” He settles back into the cushions to watch, and he looks content.

“You're pretty low maintenance, huh?” Steve asks as he turns back to his desk.

“If you'd seen my last assignment,” Sam says, “you'd know this is serious luxury.” His voice is light enough, but Steve remembers how quickly he'd closed down when it had been brought up earlier. He just hums noncommittally and gets to work, the low sound of the TV and Sam's frequent chuckles providing a comforting backdrop.

He does a few warm-up sketches, just enough to get some momentum going. When he finds himself absently shading the rough outline of a wing, he huffs in annoyance and erases it all.

\---

“I gotta tell you, pal,” Bucky says, mouth close to Steve's ear to be heard over the sounds of the crowded bar. Steve shivers a little. “For a guy who isn't enthusiastic about this, you sure did wear your skinniest skinny jeans.”

“These are the only ones I had clean,” Steve huffs.

Bucky just looks at him, unimpressed. “Uh huh. Well, at least everyone in here can see you've got a, uh, big _personality_ ,” he says with a wink, and Steve fervently hopes that the bar is dim enough to hide his blush.

Sam snorts into his fluorescent pink cocktail from across the table.

“Something funny?” Steve asks, bristling.

“Nah, man.” Sam shakes his head. “I think they look pretty good on you, actually.”

“Well, of course they do,” Bucky says, frowning. “I didn't say they didn't.”

“No,” Steve says, “but you didn't say they did, either.” He sniffs. “You were too busy objectifying my dick, in case you forgot.”

“Well, it's an underutilized commodity,” Bucky says, winking again because he's an utter asshole. “I have to prioritize, you know?”

Sam's looking back and forth between them like he's at a tennis match. “Okay. If y'all are done with... whatever it is you're doing, how about we do a little mingling? Steve's not gonna meet anybody if he sits here with us all night.”

Steve sighs, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Bucky hunching over his beer. “Just let me finish my drink first, okay?”

“Fine, but I'm gonna do a little recon.” He's out of his seat and halfway across the bar with his drink before Steve can say anything. Steve watches in dismay as Sam approaches a redhead in a tight black dress, who Steve can tell is miles out of his league, even with her back turned.

Steve turns back to his beer, staring down at it as if it might hold the key to getting him out of this situation.

“Sam's nice,” Bucky says out of nowhere, and Steve looks up. Bucky appears to be systematically shredding the damp napkin that had been underneath his beer. “I wasn't expecting to get an angel who'd tell you your ass looked good, but still. He's nice.”

“He didn't say my ass looked good,” Steve says slowly. “He just said my outfit looked good, which is pretty tame as far as compliments go. And I'm pretty sure he was just being nice, like you said. Trying to give me a confidence boost or something.”

“Bullshit.” Bucky finally looks up from the scene of destruction on the table front of him. There are bits of wet napkin stuck to his prosthetic.

“What are you trying to say, Buck?” Steve gives him a weak smile. “Do _you_ think my ass looks good?”

Bucky just stares at him for a long moment, mirroring Steve's smile, and then he grins and throws his arm around Steve's shoulders. “It's hard for me to make an objective judgment,” he says. “I already saw mine in the mirror tonight, so my standards are awfully high.”

“You're such a jerk,” Steve laughs, but he doesn't try to dislodge Bucky's arm.

“Am I interrupting something?” a woman's voice asks. They look up to find the red haired woman from across the bar smirking down at them, and Sam standing next to her looking pleased with himself.

Steve's almost too busy marveling at the fact that Sam actually convinced this woman to come over to their table to notice the sudden change in Bucky's demeanor, but not quite. Bucky pulls his arm back from Steve's shoulders, and his grin goes lazy and false. Steve frowns.

“You're not interrupting at all,” Bucky says, sliding away in the booth so there's some daylight between him and Steve. It's colder than Steve realized, without Bucky pressed up to his side.  
  
“This is Steve,” Sam says, gesturing at them as he pulls a chair out on the other side of the table. Should Steve have gotten up to do that? He's terrible at this. “And that's Bucky. Steve, Bucky, this is Natasha.”  
  
“It's nice to meet you,” Steve tells her even as his stomach twists into knots.  
  
“You too,” Natasha says, glancing from Steve to Bucky and back again before she finally sits down. “I feel like I should tell you that I'm seeing someone, since your friend here wasn't exactly subtle about his intentions.”  
  
Steve feels his face turn red. “That's not, I didn’t—” He looks at Sam, who settles into his own chair and puts his hands up, as if to deny any responsibility.  
  
“He had plenty of good things to say about you,” she tells Steve, and her smile is a little difficult to read but it doesn't seem _mean_. “And if I had to deal with one more attempted groping up there, I was going to get myself banned.” She takes a sip of the drink she'd brought with her. “I kind of like it here, so you're helping me out.”  
  
Steve frowns, craning his head for a good view of the bar. “Who tried to grope you?” he asks, embarrassment dissipating in favor of anger. “I can't stand that shit, guys wanna act like they have the right to just—”  
  
“Steve.” Natasha's openly amused now, but her smile is soft. “I appreciate the impulse to go defend my honor, but I can promise you it's not necessary.”  
  
“That's Stevie for you,” Bucky says, glancing up at him with a with a crooked smile that's much nicer on his face than whatever he'd been putting on a minute ago. “You'd never meet a better guy.”  
  
Steve smiles back, bemused and trying to get his head around the way Bucky's acting, but before he can ask him if everything's all right, a man approaches their table. His focus is clearly on Natasha, and Steve tenses, but Natasha just greets him with a hello and a lazy salute.  
  
“Is it okay if I sit here?” the man asks, and Sam waves at the empty seat next to him. “I'm Clint,” he tells them as he sits down, and Steve tries not to glare at him, since Natasha seems to think he's okay. Clint glances over at her with a raised eyebrow, and Steve catches sight of a hearing aid in one of his ears. He realizes then that Natasha had been greeting him with ASL, and he feels himself smiling without meaning to.  
  
“This is Sam, Steve, and Bucky,” Natasha tells him, pointing at each of them in turn. Steve sees Clint's eyes focus on her mouth, and when Clint turns to say hello to them, Steve repeats Natasha's sign from earlier.  
  
“ _You read lips?_ ” he signs, and Clint smiles at him, surprised.  
  
“ _Yeah,_ ” he replies, “ _I do okay. You're deaf?_ ”  
  
Steve waffles his hand in the air. “ _Most of the way on this side_ ,” he says, gesturing at his left ear, and Clint nods sympathetically.  
  
“ _I'm about fifty percent in both_ ,” he says. “ _The aids help, but it's so loud in here they don't really work._ ”  
  
Steve nods. “ _It's good to meet you_ ,” he says with a smile, and he means it.  
  
“ _You sure about that? Your boy seems to be planning where he's gonna dump my body._ ”  
  
Steve glances over at Bucky, who quickly drops his gaze to scowl at the table. He's got two more empties than Steve actually remembers him drinking, and Steve frowns. “Hey, Buck, you okay?”  
  
Bucky looks up with a bleary smile. “Never better, pal.”  
  
After a long moment of waiting to see if he'll say anything else, Steve turns back to Clint, trying to shake off the linger feeling that something's wrong. “ _So, you and Natasha?_ ”  
  
Clint smiles brightly, and it's such a shift from the careless smirk he'd been wearing a moment ago that Steve blinks in surprise. “ _I'm pretty lucky, huh?_ ”  
  
Steve nods in agreement, trying not to feel jealous of that kind of certainty.  
  
“Sorry,” Clint says to the group, “That was probably rude.”  
  
“Nah,” Sam tells him, “you're good. It's nice to meet you, isn't that right, Bucky?”  
  
Bucky shoots him an annoyed look before turning that fake smile from earlier on Clint. “It's a real pleasure,” he says, and Clint gives him a friendly wave. He does it slowly, as if Bucky’s a wild dog that’ll bite him if he’s not careful.

Steve cuts his eyes over toward Bucky, who’s gone back to trying to stare a hole through the table. Clint’s instincts might not be too far off, but hell if Steve knows why.

\---

  
“I don't know what your deal is, Bucky,” Steve says as they stumble down the sidewalk a few hours later. He had exchanged numbers with Clint, with plans to get together with him and Natasha in the near future, so at least the night doesn't feel like too much of a wash. Bucky, however, had gotten progressively drunker as the night went on, and the more he drank, the more recalcitrant he became.  
  
“I don't have a deal,” he mumbles, bumping into Steve as he tries to keep his feet moving in front of each other. “What's _your_ deal?”  
  
“No deal, Bucky,” Steve says quietly, slipping his left arm around Bucky's waist. Without being asked, Sam slips his own around from the other side, and between the two of them, they keep Bucky upright. His head keeps lolling onto Steve's shoulder, but his breath is warm in the night air, and Steve can't imagine himself minding too much even if it weren't. When his arm presses against Sam’s, he can’t help but be grateful for the support.  
  
“Clint and Natasha are nice,” Sam says after a few minutes of walking. “Sorry I'm bad at matchmaking,” he adds. “I told you, I'm new at this.”  
  
“You're doing fine,” Steve tells him, because getting two new friends is a much better outcome than he'd been hoping for out of their evening.  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles. “You're doing _great_.” There's something harsh in his tone, and Steve glances over to catch his eye, but Bucky just buries his face in Steve's shoulder and mumbles something that Steve can't make out. Sam's head jerks up on his other side, and he stares at Bucky in a way that makes Steve nervous.  
  
“You know that's my bad side, Buck.” Bucky just mumbles something else, and Steve sighs. “You _know_ I can't hear you.”  
  
“I said,” Bucky says, leaning away just enough that he's speaking directly into Steve's ear. “You ain't got a bad side, Stevie.” His breath is hot, and smells a little like whiskey that Steve doesn’t even remember him drinking. It shouldn’t feel as nice as it does, but Steve can admit that when it comes to this one thing, he’s weak.  
  
He swallows hard, because it's not exactly fair of him to get himself worked up over Bucky making a friendly comment, especially when the guy is well on the far side of tanked.  
  
“We're almost home,” he says, as much to himself as to Sam, and Sam nods.

Once they get Bucky into bed—an exercise in coaxing and some undignified wrestling—Steve follows Sam back to the living room and slumps onto the couch next to him. He’s wrung out and his stomach aches, and when Sam tosses an arm around his shoulders he finds himself sinking into it gratefully.

“Everything okay?” Sam asks, hushed as if Bucky might suddenly regain consciousness if he's too loud.

“Yeah,” Steve says. He can feel Sam's skeptical expression boring into the side of his head, and he shifts in his seat. “It's just, I don't understand what's going on with him. He's making me go through this waste of time—no offense—and acting like _he's_ the one who has a right to be grumpy.

“He was definitely in full grump mode at the bar,” Sam agrees. “I don't think he liked Clint very much.”

“Well, he needs to make up his mind.” Steve feels a little fuzzy from the drinks, now that he's out of the sharp cold. He leans into Sam a little. “I get that he feels like he needs to, I don't know, get me set up with someone, so that he can actually find someone for himself without worrying about getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night.”

“I don't think that's—”

“But he acted like an asshole all night!” Steve continues. “Was he just mad because I wasted the night talking to two people who weren't going to date me anyway?”

“I'm pretty sure that wasn't it,” Sam says, but he doesn't elaborate even when Steve gives him an expectant look.

“I just... I know I need Bucky more than he needs me. I _know_. But is it selfish to wish that we could just keep going like we are anyway? That I could be enough for him?” He swallows, face turning red at how much he just revealed, but Sam doesn't call him on it. He just turns to watch Steve, expression uncertain, before giving his shoulders a squeeze.

“We're gonna figure it out,” he tells Steve. “It's my job to make you happy.” Steve imagines that his voice sounds a little thicker than it had before. When he tugs Steve closer, it's easy to settle in under his arm; Steve doesn't usually like being reminded of his size, but he's too comfortable to mind just then.

“Hey,” he says, “how come your wings are always hidden?” He hasn’t really been thinking about it; Sam fits like he’s always been around, and it’s easy to forget he’s so different.

“They can be a little clumsy to deal with down here,” Sam tells him. “If you startle me, I’m liable to knock your TV over, so I usually just let people see them long enough to believe that I’m an angel, you know? Why,” he asks, chuckling, “you miss them?”

“Shut up,” Steve huffs, turning to hide his face. “You smell good.” It comes out as a mumble, muffled in Sam's sweater. He wonders if angels wear cologne. Sam spent the night in the same bar he did, and while they chose one that was smoke-free in deference to Steve's asthma, none of them had smelled especially fresh when they left. “Why do you smell good?”

Sam chuckles, and Steve can feel it tickling his hair. “I guess it's just my natural appeal,” he says, and Steve hums his agreement before dropping off to sleep.

\---

“—you _kidding_ me?”

Steve wakes up to Bucky's harsh whispers and a strong feeling of disorientation. He tries to curl up tighter, but when he realizes he's clinging to Sam like a barnacle, he jolts fully awake.

“Sorry, Stevie,” Bucky says, and his voice is gentler now. “Come on, we need to get you to bed.” When Steve squints up at him, he can see that Bucky is still vaguely swaying, but he seems much more sober than he had the previous night. Except when Steve looks at the window he sees that it's still dark, and he frowns at Bucky.

“Why'd you wake me up?” he grumbles. “I was comfortable.” It's not entirely true. His back is aching in the way it always does when he falls asleep in weird places—usually at his desk—and the look Bucky gives him lets him know that Bucky's not buying it for a second.

“I didn't mean anything,” Sam is saying slowly, like Bucky's a wild animal that needs to be kept calm. Steve turns to him with a frown, because this is becoming a theme. “We were talking, and we fell asleep.”

“Bucky's just mad because my spine is a mess, and he knows he's gonna have to deal with me in the morning complaining about it.”

“Shut up, Steve. As if you’d ever do anything so pedestrian as complain about your health. You're too tough for that, right?” Steve scowls at him, but he doesn’t answer.

“Bucky—” Sam interrupts, and Bucky shakes his head.

“This isn't a committee meeting,” he says sharply. “Steve, come on, you're going to bed.”

Everything in Steve wants to argue, but he's tired and he's hurting, so he just reaches an arm out and lets Bucky tug him to his feet.

“Thanks,” he says, turning back to the couch. Sam's watching both of them carefully, and Steve sleepily pats his knee. “I mean it.”

“Sure, no problem,” Sam says faintly. Steve barely hears it as Bucky hustles him into his room and tucks him in bed.

“I'm not a kid,” Steve protests when Bucky tugs the covers up to his chin and adjusts his pillow, but it feels so nice to be taken care of that he knows it comes out weak. It's no surprise Bucky's ready to pawn him off, if he's getting to be this needy.

“Trust me, Stevie,” Bucky says, brushing Steve's hair back from his face. “I know that.”

He doesn't shut Steve's door the whole way as he leaves, probably to make it easier to check on him later, but it means that Steve can hear Bucky go into the kitchen for a glass of water, and Sam following him in moments later. The kitchen chairs scrape against the floor, and Steve can make out snippets of their conversation if he really focuses.

“—don't think this is part of your job description,” Bucky's saying.

“I wasn't—” Sam starts, and then his voice gets too quiet to hear.

“—dealt with a lot already—don't need to be leading him on.”

Steve feels his face get hot.

“—the kettle—if you don't mind—”

The kitchen gets quiet. Steve listens for Bucky getting the kettle down, but there's no sound at all. He frowns.

“—know what you're—” Bucky’s sounds as if he’s forcing the words out through his teeth, and Steve strains to hear more.

“You don't have to—”

Their murmurs are interrupted by Bucky laughing, bitter and grating against Steve's ears. Whatever he says after that is too quiet for Steve to make out, and he falls back asleep before he can catch anything else.

\---

Steve stands in the living room the next morning, staring at the couch with something uncomfortable curling in his gut. Sam's back in his spot from the night before, dozing, but this time it's Bucky there with him. He's laid out on his back with his feet in Sam's lap and one arm thrown over his eyes, looking soft and comfortable.

On the one hand, Steve's glad that they resolved whatever disagreement they'd had the night before, but... As he watches them sleep, he feels a hot stab of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, and the worst part is, he doesn't even know who it’s directed toward. Sam's got one hand on Bucky's ankle, proprietary, and Steve just shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat when it comes out hoarse. Bucky twitches, peeking out from behind his arm, and Sam blinks awake slowly. “You just wanted to kick me out cause my spot looked so comfortable?” His voice is carefully light, but Sam furrows his brow, looking a bit bewildered.

“I could just see you in six months,” Bucky says groggily, waving his hand. “Bragging to everyone about how you cuddled with an angel that one time. Had to make sure you didn't get too big an ego, you know?”

It's... it's _stupid_ , is what it is. Bucky's talking as if Steve won’t recognize the deflection, and Sam looks completely lost, and Steve knew, he _knew_ when this all started that it was going to be a disaster. He casts around for something to break the silence.

“I didn't know angels even slept,” he says finally, and Sam shrugs.

“Yeah, well, it looks like they do.” It would sound dismissive if he didn't still seem so uncertain. Steve wonders if something's wrong, and then he wonders how in such a short time, he went from wanting this angel to leave to being worried about his mental well-being.

“Remind me to get you some blankets and stuff tonight,” he says, and Sam nods once. Steve makes a quick exit, feeling like he's exhausted his ability to make sense of things. Sam's hand is still on Bucky's leg.

\---

“Oh, hey,” Steve says when his phone buzzes, a little while later once everyone is awake and at least one cup of coffee into the day. There's a wary sort of tension in the kitchen that Steve stubbornly ignores. “Clint texted me. He said he wants us to come over for movie night or something.”

“He wants _us_ to come over?” Bucky asks, gesturing between himself and Sam with a frown. “Are you sure?”

Steve looks at him for a long minute before glancing down at his phone again and nodding. “Yeah, he specifically used the phrase 'dynamic trio.'“

“That sounds cool,” Sam says, sipping his coffee and nudging Bucky with his elbow. However their disagreement had turned out the night before, they seem to have moved past it into something more companionable. Steve is—selfishly—not entirely sure he likes it. “Did he say when?”

“Just sometime this week,” Steve says with a shrug. It's only Wednesday, so there's time to figure it out. Clint had asked him the night before why, exactly, they'd decided to come out on a Tuesday night to try to get Steve laid, to which Steve had replied that Sam had just gotten into town and had insisted. It wasn't even a lie.

The thing about Bucky's barely concealed hostility toward Clint is that it seemed to have been mostly due to the fact that Steve and Clint had a few side conversations in ASL. Apparently that was the height of rudeness, going by the way Bucky had folded his arms and stared at a point across the room every time. He's never been like that before, Steve knows, and he's no slouch when it comes to signing, either. Hell, he'd been one of the first people Steve practiced with when they were kids.

So the fact that Bucky refused to pay attention to what they were saying, instead acting like they were having an extremely impolite conversation in the middle of the table... it just doesn't make any sense. He wants to ask Bucky about the mood he's been in, but it's easier for now to just pretend there's nothing going on.

“I'll admit I haven't been on a date in a while,” Bucky drawls, and Steve's hand tightens around his mug. “But inviting two extra people along seems awfully counterproductive.”

Steve frowns at him. “Three.”

“What?”

“Three people,” Steve says slowly, not quite sure where their miscommunication is happening. “You, me, Sam. And I'm gonna be honest, I'm pretty sure he and Natasha have been a thing long enough that movie night isn't a big romantic event.”

“What?” Bucky says again, but this time he sits up a little straighter and Steve can see the wheels turning in his head.

“Buck?”

“Oh, lord,” Sam mutters, ignoring the sharp look Bucky gives him. “Steve, it seems like our Bucky thought—”

“ _Sam_ ,” Bucky interrupts, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. Sam seems to interpret those eyebrows just fine, putting his hands up defensively before going back to his coffee.

“No,” Steve says. “What did—oh, God, did you think...” He feels the laughter welling up but tries to tamp it down, because going by the look on Bucky's face, he wouldn't appreciate it very much. “Did you think Clint was hitting on me?”

“It seemed like he was doing more than that,” Bucky mutters to the dregs at the bottom of his mug. “You two really seemed to hit it off.”

“Well, yeah,” Steve says. “It's hard enough meeting new people you can carry a decent conversation with, so it's pretty nice to find a friend who, you know...” He gestures vaguely. “Understands stuff.”

Bucky looks wounded. “I understand,” he protests. “I mean, I know I don't _understand_ , but I thought we did okay.”

“What?” Steve blinks. “Of course we do okay, you're my best friend. What's going on, Bucky?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says. “Sorry, it's just this hangover.” He rubs at his eyes. “I don't even know what I'm talking about. I need to get a shower.”

Steve gives him a long look before shrugging and getting up to put his mug in the sink, and he pointedly doesn't watch Sam follow Bucky back the hallway. So he doesn't see Sam putting a hand on Bucky's shoulder, or Bucky not shrugging him off, or Sam leaning in to say something practically right into Bucky's ear. He doesn't see Bucky's small smile, or feel jealousy burning in his stomach.

He doesn't do any of that; he just turns the faucet on and stares out the window.

\---

“Okay, I've got it,” Sam says when he comes into the apartment from whatever exploratory walk he's been on. It's Saturday afternoon, and after three more nights of Sam sleeping on his couch and three more days with no progress toward finding someone for Steve, Steve's honestly wondering what, exactly, Sam is doing there.

Steve looks up from his tablet cautiously. “Do I want to know?”

“Yeah, you're gonna love it,” he says, producing a flier from one of his pockets. He's still mostly wearing his own clothes, though they've been cleaned a few times in the laundry room in the basement, but today he's wearing one of Bucky's more comfortable hoodies zipped up over his own shirt. Steve swallows as Sam hands the paper over.

His stomach sinks. “Speed dating?” he asks weakly, and Sam grins. The asshole absolutely knows Steve isn't going to love this, but after three days with mysteriously little pressure to get out and meet people, Steve knows he's not really in a position to argue.

“Look,” Sam says, tapping the flier. “It's not split up by gender or anything—everybody gets to meet everybody.”

That's... that's actually kind of cool, though Steve's not going to admit it. Just because he can appreciate the concept doesn't mean he has any desire to go.

“Okay,” he says after a minute of quick thinking, “but I need moral support if I'm going to do this. You and Bucky have to do it too.” He keeps his expression as even as he can as Sam's face goes through a few weird contortions, but then—

“Cool, I'm in.” He pulls his phone out with a smile and starts tapping away. Steve's not actually sure where he _got_ a phone. It buzzes in Sam's hand once and his smile slips a little, but then he gets a look of determination and starts typing out another message.

Steve has a bad, bad feeling. “What are you doing?”

Sam hits send and holds a finger up, and about twenty seconds later, his phone buzzes again. “Bucky's in,” he says triumphantly, and Steve slumps in his seat.

\---

It's a total disaster.

Well, no, that's not entirely fair; Steve's met some decent people, and it's actually kind of nice to be in a crowd where you're not likely to get judged for being bi, or pan, or whatever. Not that Steve is endlessly bitter about that sort of thing, of course.

He's met some... characters, though. The guy two rounds previous had stared at Steve wordlessly for about fifteen seconds, and then declared that he'd like to paint him. Steve had, admittedly, gaped like a fish for a moment, but then he'd jumped on a hunch.

“Which medium?” he'd asked politely, and smiled just as politely when the man frowned and made uncertain noises at him for the remainder of their three minutes.

The woman across from him now has a nametag that says “Anna” with a smiley face drawn underneath, and she’s nice, but he can tell she's not especially interested in him. The way she keeps cutting glances at the woman two seats down from her is a pretty solid clue. The way the rotation is set up means that she won't be sitting across from the other woman for a while—if at all, since Steve doesn’t know where they’re supposed to be going and just keeps following the woman to his right—and Steve smiles at her sympathetically. They ask each other a few of the suggested icebreakers on the little index card on the table, and she sighs with relief when Steve asks her if she has any pets.

He sneaks a few glances at Bucky while she talks, frowning when he sees Bucky's unmistakably closed-off body language. If there's one thing Bucky excels at—and there isn't one thing, there are endless things, but that's not the point—it's laying on the charm, but he looks like he's actively trying to scare off his dates.

Steve realizes he's ignoring his own, and tunes back in with a well-timed, if unconvincing, “That's so cool.” Honestly, two and a half minutes listening to her talk about her Brussels Griffon is much better than three full minutes of awkward silence, and he doesn't have to fake his warm smile when she moves on to the next table.

His first question when the woman from two seats down—Siobhan—settles across from him is a blandly interested “Do you like dogs?”

“Yeah, I do,” she says, eyebrows going up, and makes an aborted move for her phone before placing both hands on the table.

“You were going to show me pictures, weren't you?” Steve can't help but smile when she gives him a sheepish nod. “I don't actually have a dog,” he admits. “I'm allergic.” He points discreetly at his last date. “But that girl over there was telling me about _her_ dog, and it seemed like a pretty safe topic.”

“Really?” The woman leans forward to look, not at _all_ discreetly.

“It’s one of those ones that looks like an Ewok.”

She smiles, warm and a little excited. “I'll have to ask her about that.”

“Not a bad idea,” Steve says, feeling pleased with himself, and she ends up showing him a few pictures anyway before their time runs out.

“Now, don't take this the wrong way,” Sam says, sitting down across from Steve, who blinks in surprise. “But it kind of looks like you're trying to put me out of a job.”

“I'm not sure what you—”

“I mean, not only are you turning away perfectly nice women without even giving them a chance, but you're setting them up with each other.” Sam laughs. “You're going to make me redundant, Rogers.”

“How do you even know that?” Steve asks, because even though they're in a privately rented room in the back of the bar, it's hardly quiet. Steve's had to engage in a little bit of lip reading already.

“I'm all-seeing,” Sam tells him, but he's got a glint in his eye that tells Steve he's kidding. Probably kidding.

“So,” Steve says without preamble, “what are you looking for in a significant other?”

Sam raises an eyebrow, and Steve raises one right back. Sam sighs. “Well, I guess I just...” He trails off, shaking his head. “I'm not here for me,” he finishes. Steve folds his arms. “Look, I don't know.” Sam rubs at the back of his head and shifts in his seat, and Steve can just about imagine his wings twitching behind him.

“You've gotta know _something_ ,” Steve protests.

Sam chews on his lip, looking at the table for a moment. Steve is hyperaware of the timer ticking down, for once. “I don't know,” Sam says again. “I can't give you a list of traits to make up some ideal person. I just think the dream is to have someone that, you know—” He gestures at his chest. “Makes you feel full.” He shakes his head. “Maybe that doesn't make any sense; I know I'm not exactly—”

“No,” Steve interrupts gently. “I get it.” Because he _does_ ; he can't count the number of times he's looked at Bucky laughing, or frowning, or _sleeping_ , for God's sake, and felt like his heart couldn't hold anymore. “Do you think that's love?” he asks before he can stop himself.

Sam looks at him for a long moment, but as he opens his mouth, the timer goes off, and he's getting up with an apologetic smile.

There are a few more people after Sam—none of them memorable, in good or bad ways—and then Bucky's settling down across from him with a smirk. Steve feels his ears get hot, because _somehow_ it hadn't occurred to him that this might happen.

“So,” Bucky says, squinting at his nametag. “What do you do, _Steven_?”

“Cute. Listen, if I have to make the effort to come out here, you have to make an effort too, and you couldn't be making less of one if you had a neon Keep Out sign over your head.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Bucky asks. He sits up a little straighter, already prepared to go on the defensive.

“I'm just saying,” Steve tells him, “I don't think the goal is to be the grumpiest date of the night. Geez, Bucky, you don't have to date any of these people, you just have to be nice.” He slumps a little. “Although I don't know why you wouldn't want to, anyway. You might meet someone special. You don't know.”

Bucky gives him a hard look before taking a long sip of the drink he'd brought with him. “This is some real pot-calling-the-kettle-black shit,” he says, pausing to smile wryly into his glass, although hell if Steve knows what it’s about. “Am I really supposed to believe you're making an effort?”

“Well, yeah, I'm—”

“Name two people you were going to put down as matches on the thing at the end, Steve.”

“Oh. Well, I don't—”

“Name _one_ ,” Bucky says, and when Steve just stares helplessly at him, he rolls his eyes. “That's what I thought.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Steve says. “There's a really nice woman down there,” he fumbles for her name, “Anna. We hit it off, for your information, so maybe don't assume you know exactly what's in my head all the time.”

“Oh.” Bucky deflates a little. “That's, that's great Stevie. I'm glad.”

“Well, she might not put me down on hers,” Steve backtracks. “I wouldn't expect anything out of it, honestly.”

“Nah,” Bucky says, smiling his crooked smile across at Steve. “You said you hit it off, right? It's about time someone showed some sense about you. You're a catch, dipshit.”

“I... okay.” Steve takes a deep breath as subtly as he can, and wonders how many drinks Bucky's had tonight. His eyes are a little glassy, and he seems like he's tipping toward morose in that way he does when he's had one too many. He doesn’t usually do that, and this is twice in one week. “Well, I guess we'll find out. But you could at least use this for practice, you know?”

“Practice.” Bucky repeats.

“Well, yeah. You haven't been on a date in a while; don't think I haven't noticed. Maybe this is how you can ease back into it.” He smiles, and almost means it. “Your flirting has gotten a little rusty, if you don't mind me saying.”

Bucky's eyebrows go up. “Excuse me, I _do_ mind you saying, because that's slander.” He looks like he might have something else to say, but the timer goes off.

Steve kind of hates that timer, even as he's thankful for it. They stay sitting there a few seconds too long before vacating their seats.

“Good luck,” Steve says.

“You too,” Bucky mumbles, and then he looks back at Steve. “Let me know if anyone gives you any trouble, okay? There's a guy somewhere here who'll probably tell you about his stamp collection, and I don't like to make judgments, but I think he's looking for a skin suit.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve says. “Yeah, thanks for the heads up.”

When he gets to his next table, his date is tapping his foot impatiently. Those three minutes go about as well as you'd expect.

The next woman to sit down across from him gives him the kind of sly smile that has him swallowing around a dry throat.

“I'm Darcy,” she says, sticking her hand out across the table, and Steve takes it after only a moment of hesitation. He hasn't gotten a lot of handshakes tonight.

“Steve,” he says, a little off balance.

“So, what do you do, Steve?” When he tells her what he does for a living—something that has gotten him some pitying looks already tonight, for God-knows-what reason—she lights up.

“God, that's so cool. I can barely draw diagrams at work, and we have software for that.” At his expectant look, she rolls her eyes. “I'm a graduate assistant; I mostly work for this one professor that does”—she waves her hand—“theoretical physics.”

“Wow,” Steve says. “That sounds... challenging.”

“You have _no_ idea,” she tells him. “I'm not even a physics major.”

When he raises his eyebrows, it prompts her to tell him the abridged version of how she ended up there, which somehow involves a taser that she shows him like a proud parent. The way she tells it has his stomach hurting from laughing so much. _Take that, Bucky._

After the timer goes off, she gets up as if to move on to the next table, but she pauses to fumble in her purse for a pen. She does a little bit of scribbling before handing him what looks like an old gum wrapper with her number written on it. He smiles despite himself, because this is the kind of girl he could really see himself getting involved with if it weren't for, well, everything else.

“I know that's not how we're supposed to do it,” she tells him, “but I like you. Even if it's not a love connection,” she adds with some kind of hand gesture that he thinks is sarcastic, “I can always use more friends. Cool?”

“Cool,” Steve agrees, feeling just as off balance as he had when she'd sad down. He's always had a soft spot for forward women, is all it is. He glances up as she walks away, and starts when he finds himself meeting Bucky’s eyes from halfway across the room. He has no idea what he’s seeing on Bucky’s face, and he doesn’t get a chance to figure it out before Bucky is turning and sitting down.

There are a couple more dates who are nice enough, but they don't get far past polite small talk, which is fine as far as Steve's concerned. When the timer goes off and his next date walks over with his phone to his ear before holding up a finger for Steve to wait, though... Steve's had just about all he can take.

He cuts his eyes around the room, spotting Darcy giving the man she's sitting with a flat look, and he smiles. Anna and Siobhan aren't sitting with each other yet, but he thinks they will be soon. He feels pretty good about that, actually.

He does, however, just about do a double take when he sees Sam and Bucky sitting together a few tables down. They're leaning in toward each other, and Steve doesn't have a hope of hearing what they're saying, but Bucky's expression is serious. Whatever it is that he says, Sam responds with a soft smile, reaching across to put his hand on Bucky's arm. His eyes are achingly warm, and Bucky looks surprised, but he's showing a hint of a smile, too.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, remembering what Sam had said to him during their ‘date.’ He can't be sure, but the look on Sam's face reminds him of the way Steve knows _he_ looks at Bucky when he doesn't catch himself. His date is still on the phone and is showing no sign of returning within their three minutes, so Steve stands abruptly and weaves his way out of the back room before Sam or Bucky can spot him.

It's... it's fine, it really is. Or it will be. He knew that the way he felt for Bucky was one-sided, so that's no surprise, but to have Sam—Sam, the _angel_ , who's only here because Steve's a lonely mess—be the one to take him away is a little too much to take. Steve rolls his eyes at himself when he realizes he'd thought Sam was flirting with _him_. He's gotten enough pep talks and confidence boosts from Bucky that you'd think he would recognize them by now.

He's so wrapped up in his own frustration that he doesn't notice the small group of men following him out of the bar, and it's not until one of them gives him a shove about halfway down the block that he realizes he's not alone.

“Hey, asshole,” the guy says, slurring just enough to make Steve nervous. Just because that speed-dating event was open-minded doesn't mean the usual bar crowd will be, too.

“You got a problem?” Steve asks, straightening his back, and he scowls when there are a few chuckles.

“Yeah.” The guy pokes him in the chest. “I _do_. You greedy fuckers think you can do what”—he hiccups—“whatever you want, and you _can’t_.” He sways a little, but the group behind him is making angry noises of agreement.

“Listen,” Steve says, “I don't know what you think—”

“I _think_ every hot woman in that bar was back there was getting monopolized by a bunch of gay guys, and I'm goddamn sick of it,” the guy says with an ugly sneer, and Steve knows he shouldn't, knows what Bucky would say, but—

It's obvious the guy's not expecting Steve to take a swing at him, and Steve's halfway surprised when he connects solidly with the guy’s nose and it starts bleeding furiously.

“Ah, shit,” Steve says, mostly to himself, as the group piles onto him.

They get a few sharp hits in, including one to Steve's jaw that has his whole head feeling a little fuzzy, before he hears an angry shout and the guys start disappearing. He looks up, clutching at his bruised side, just in time to see Bucky laying one of the guys out flat with an uppercut, and Sam...

Steve blinks as Sam efficiently puts the other three guys on the ground, and for a second he'd swear he could see his wings. Is this what angels are supposed to look like? He’s beautiful and terrifying, breathing heavily, and Steve is really, really into it. Steve blinks again, slow, and feels himself swaying even though he's pretty sure he's still on the ground.

“Stevie? _Shit_ ,” Bucky curses, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulders. Steve pats his hand in reassurance.

“I'm okay,” he croaks, suddenly aware of the tightness in his chest, but when he feels for his inhaler, he's dismayed to realize it must have fallen out of his pocket somewhere.

“Here,” Bucky's saying, producing an inhaler from who-knows-where and holding it up to Steve's mouth. “Come on, it's okay, just breathe.”

Steve inhales deeply, absently wondering how Bucky be holding the inhaler and still be rubbing his back the way he always does when Steve gets like this.

“Feels nice,” he mumbles, testing his breathing for a minute before inhaling again. When he's sure he's past the worst of it, he looks up, surprised to see Sam crouched on the other side of him. Bucky's extra hand makes more sense now. He blinks at Sam a few times, frowning when he sees a cut above Sam's eye that appears to be bleeding freely. “Sam?”

“Are you okay to move?” Sam asks. “It's probably a good idea to get out of here before they wake up, or the cops come.”

Steve looks at the men, who are all still out cold, and at Bucky, who's got the beginnings of a black eye, and he frowns. “You're hurt,” he says, looking between Sam and Bucky so they'll know he means both of them.

“They got in a couple of lucky shots,” Bucky scoffs. “They'd have to try harder than that if they wanted to take the three of us down.”

“Right,” Steve huffs as he tries to stand. “The three of us.”

“You sure you're okay?” Sam asks, hovering at his elbow, and Steve manages a smile even with his aching jaw.

“Let's go home.”

\---

“Why are you even bleeding?” Bucky asks Sam once he’s gotten the first aid kit out and patched them up, more or less. The three of them are crowded into the bathroom; Steve is on the closed toilet seat, Sam’s perched on the sink, and Bucky is eying them both critically as if he doesn't have a few scrapes of his own.

Sam shrugs, making unblinking eye contact with the wall. “The longer we spend around people, the more human things creep in, I guess. I remember—” He cuts himself off with a sharp shake of his head. “It doesn't matter. It'll be fine.”

“Sam,” Steve says, reaching out and wrapping a hand around his ankle to get Sam to look at him. He flushes when he remembers Sam doing the same to Bucky a few days ago, but he holds on until Sam turns. “You can tell us. Just so you know.”

“Tell you what?” Sam asks, but it's a weak attempt at deflection. Steve just looks at him, and is satisfied to see Bucky out of the corner of his eye doing the same.

“We're friends, right?” Bucky asks. “You don't gotta tell us anything you don't want to, but it's obvious there's _something_.”

Sam looks up at him, and then down at Steve, who nods. “It's not...” He sighs. “Steve, I told you this wasn't my usual thing, right?”

“Yeah, Sam.”

“My last job was, well,” he looks at the ceiling. “I guess the closest thing you'd relate it to is a guardian angel,” he finishes. “There was a unit in Afghanistan, and me and my buddy were assigned to them for a while, trying to keep them safe.” He smiles faintly. “It was a good job.”

“Your buddy?” Bucky asks, and Sam's smile grows a little.

“Riley,” he says. “I've known him for longer than I can remember. I was gonna say that I remembered the first time Riley got a nosebleed. All that dry air, you know? He thought he was dying.”

He laughs, but it catches in his throat. Steve and Bucky stay quiet.

“We knew we were supposed to keep our distance,” Sam says. “Not like it was a hard and fast rule, but more a matter of professionalism. But it's hard to be with a group of people in those circumstances and not get close. I had some good friends there.

“Riley's dumb ass, on the other hand, decided to go and fall in love with one of the staff sergeants.” He laughs to himself. “She was _scary_ , man, and Riley couldn't shut up about her. I think maybe they were together, but she was serious as hell about her job, so I could never really tell for sure, and he wouldn’t say. He acted real cocky about it, but that was kind of his default setting.”

Steve can feel something heavy settling in his stomach.

“What happened?” he asks, and the vague hint of a smile slips off Sam's face.

“Their post got attacked late one night,” he says, “and me and Riley did our jobs. We saved a lot of people, but...” He shakes his head. “There was a grenade, and Riley knocked me out of the way, and that was that.”

“Sam—” Bucky says, but Sam shakes his head to cut him off.

“You know, I think if it'd been me that took the worst of it, I would have been okay? It would have hurt like hell—I was getting hungry and sleepy every day at that point, so I was hardly at my best—but Riley was as good as human by then. I didn't realize it, I didn't even know it _worked_ like that, but they told me after. That's what that kind of love does,” he says, tipping his head back to stare intently at the vent in the ceiling.

“Sam, I'm so sorry,” Steve says, but it sounds useless even to him.

“It's okay,” Sam tells him, blinking until his eyes aren’t quite so shiny. “They kept me out of it for a while, and when I told them I was ready to go back to work, they told me I had a new job.” He spreads his hands. “So that's the story of how you got an amateur Cupid,” he says, and Steve ducks his head.

“I think you do just fine,” Steve says, and Bucky makes a noise of agreement and drops his hand on Sam's shoulder. Steve takes a deep breath and pretends not to see.

“You know,” Sam says with a laugh. It's bitter and wrong in Steve's ears. “You'd think, of all things, I would have learned from Riley's mistake.”

“Love's not a mistake,” Bucky says sharply, and Steve looks up despite himself. There's a high flush on his cheeks, and he's looking back and forth between Steve and Sam, and Steve has to force himself to smile back.

“I'm gonna...” He stands up, gesturing to the door. Bucky's standing right in the doorway, and he frowns down at Steve. “I'm gonna go to bed,” he says finally, risking a glance over his shoulder. Sam's watching him with something that looks like hurt in his eyes, and Steve can't stand to see it. “It's good,” he tells Sam, and he tries to mean it. “I'm happy for you guys.”

When he tries to edge past Bucky, Bucky just shifts and plants himself even further into Steve's path.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Bucky demands, and Steve feels the back of his neck heating up.

“Jesus, Buck, are you going to make me say it? You shouldn't have to find me someone before you can have something good for yourself!” He folds his arms and stares past Bucky into the hallway. “It's okay. I'm okay with it. You two are... you're the best guys I know.” He finally looks at Bucky. “You deserve to be happy.” Then, to Sam: “You deserve to...” he rubs at his aching chest without meaning to, and Sam's eyes go painfully soft. “You deserve it, too.”

There's a long moment where a silent, urgent conversation seems to pass between Sam and Bucky, and then finally—

“Then why are you leaving?” Sam asks, so quiet Steve almost doesn't catch it.

Steve frowns, wishing it could just be over with already. “I don’t—”

“If you leave right now,” Sam starts, then pauses to take a steadying breath. He’s watching Steve so intently that Steve can't make himself look away even though he desperately wants to. “If you leave, I'm only ever going to feel half of what we talked about earlier. Do you get it?”

Steve looks helplessly at Bucky. “But you don't—”

“I do,” Bucky says, staring at the floor.

“Then why did you—” He shakes his head again. It doesn’t make any sense.

“I always figured you could do better,” Bucky says, lips twisted up in a self-deprecating parody of a smile. “You _deserve_ better.”

“That’s… the dumbest shit I’ve heard all day,” Steve manages. He feels like his world just got tipped over sideways. “I really never thought that you—“

“Stevie, I realize I've been sending you some mixed signals, but I can promise you.” He glances at Sam over Steve’s shoulder, just for a moment, and then meets Steve’s eyes again. “I _do_. Jesus, _look at you_. How could I not?”

Steve blinks, not sure which of them he should be looking at. Did they discuss this already? How else could they be so clearly on the same page, when Steve's starting to suspect he's been reading the wrong book?

“The question is,” Sam begins, dropping his feet to the tile and taking a cautious step closer. Steve can feel the air shifting in their tiny bathroom when Sam finishes his question. “Do you?”

“Sam seems to think you do,” Bucky says. “But I’m so twisted around these days I don’t know what’s you and what’s my own wishful thinking.”

Steve feels his cheeks flushing, suddenly overheated in the confined space. He nods, because he doesn't trust himself to actually say anything without his voice breaking. It must be enough, because Bucky reaches out and takes his hand; Steve's fingers are as icy as ever, but Bucky just wraps them up in his own warm ones. Steve tugs Bucky’s arm around his waist—inadvertently, if anyone asks—as he turns to look at Sam, who reaches out with a soft smile and puts his hand over both of theirs.

“We're doing this?” Steve asks hoarsely, and then Bucky is pressed up against his back, mouth brushing against the side of his neck. “ _Oh_ ,” Steve breathes, tilting his head to let Bucky get closer.

“Wow,” Sam murmurs, and then he's closing the rest of the distance until Steve's effectively trapped between the two of them. He feels, distantly, as if it should rankle him to be wrapped up like this, but the reality is that he's just glad for the support with how wobbly his legs have gotten. “Can I?” Sam asks with a hand on Steve's chin. He's looking at Steve, but he cuts a quick, questioning glance to Bucky, as well.

Steve nods again, and Bucky makes a noise that must be a yes, because Sam doesn't hesitate before leaning in. Steve will admit that he hasn't kissed anyone in a while, but there's no accounting for the way this one affects him, or the way he stiffens in his pants immediately, or the way he wraps his arms around Sam's neck like his life depends on it.

When Sam's tongue dips into his mouth, he can't stifle a groan, and he jerks in surprise when Bucky echoes it, pushing up closer. He's hard, pressed right up against Steve's tailbone, and when Sam starts grinding his hips against Steve's, Steve feels the arousal coming up so fast that he nearly whites out.

Bucky shifts around until his mouth is right next to Steve's good ear. “I want to suck you, Stevie, can I?”

Steve shudders hard and comes in his pants, and he can't even bring himself to be embarrassed. He'd challenge anyone to keep it together with Bucky Barnes talking to them like that.

“Damn,” Sam whispers, leaning back to get a good look at Steve. “That was...”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, grinding once against Steve's ass. “God, Steve, you're amazing.”

“I didn't do anything,” Steve tries to protest, but the words fall over each other on the way out of his mouth.

“Come on,” Bucky says, urging Sam out of the bathroom before grabbing Steve’s wrist and tugging him after.

They end up in Steve’s room, Steve catching his breath on the bed as Bucky turns to Sam and, _oh_ , Steve's not going to survive this. They look incredible together, exchanging messy, urgent kisses. Steve's surprised to find that those stabbing bursts of jealousy he'd felt before are nowhere to be found now. Especially not when Bucky pushes Sam down onto the bed next to Steve, and then settles himself on the floor between Steve's legs.

“Bucky, what're you—”

“I said I wanted to do this,” Bucky says, looking up to meet Steve's eyes. “I guess I figured you gave me a yes, but... do you want me to?”

“ _God_ , Bucky,” Steve pants, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Of course I do, but I think I kind of ruined your plans.”

“Didn't ruin anything,” Sam says, reaching over to undo the button on his jeans and pull down his zipper, mouthing at Steve's jaw all the while. Bucky starts tugging Steve's jeans and underwear down, and between the two of them—after a brief struggle with his shoes—they get Steve naked from the waist down. He squirms a little, embarrassed, but when Bucky moves up to nip at the inside of his thigh, Steve's hips jerk and he lets out a surprised moan.

“Didn't ruin anything at all,” Bucky agrees, and then he closes his mouth over Steve's dick, wet with his own come and somehow already on its way to hard again.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Steve groans, and Sam dips a hand under his shirt to stroke at Steve's stomach.

“See?” he asks, and Steve nods, not entirely sure what he's agreeing to. He feels like he's having an out of body experience; Bucky is mouthing at him like he’s trying to get every drop of the mess Steve made, and Steve's never gotten hard like this, not so soon after coming. He wonders idly if Bucky is trying to kill him.

Bucky pulls off of him and Sam threads fingers into Steve's hair, tilting his head up for a searing kiss before shifting them so they can look at Bucky. His mouth is swollen, and his cheeks are flushed, and he looks Steve in the eye and says, “Once you get hard again, I want you to fuck me.” Yeah. He's trying to kill him, there's no doubt.

“Why are you both still dressed,” he manages to say, and when Bucky immediately strips out of his shirt and Sam goes for his own pants, he feels weirdly powerful. He reaches cautiously for Bucky, and when Bucky presses his face into Steve's hand, Steve slides it into Bucky's hair to tug his head back down over Steve's groin.

It's a risky move, but Bucky just groans deep in his chest and sucks Steve down until his nose is brushing his stomach. Steve tries to control the jerk of his hips, but Bucky just fits his big hands over Steve's thighs and rides it out.

“I didn't think—” Sam shakes his head. “You two are beautiful, do you know that?” This time, he reaches down and gently tugs Bucky back up, and Bucky just goes with it until he's hovering over Steve, balanced on his elbow. They both look over at Sam, who's biting his lip and— _oh_ —grinding his palm over the bulge in his shorts. “Go ahead,” he says, “please.”

Bucky practically falls into him, and Steve has the dazed realization that this is, in fact, the first time they've actually kissed. The hot slide of their mouths somehow feels like something he’s done a million times before. They grind against each other roughly, once, and when Steve tries to hide his face, Bucky presses his own into Steve's hair, breathing hotly against his temple.

“Will you fuck me?” he asks, and Steve lets out a startled moan.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he gasps, “you can't just _say_ shit like that.”

“Come on, I've wanted you to for forever.” Bucky pulls back, a pleading look on his face as if this is something Steve would ever deny him. He nods once before easing Bucky off to the side, and looks at Sam across the rapid rise and fall of Bucky’s chest.

“What do you want?” he asks, flushing at how rough his voice is.

“It doesn't matter,” Sam says with a blissed-out smile. He's not even touching himself anymore, but his eyes are dark, darting between the two of them. “Want you both.”

Steve swallows, and then looks back at Bucky as his fuzzy brain works through the logistics. “Get the rest of your clothes off,” he says finally, stripping his own shirt off, “both of you.” Bucky starts to strip his bottom half, not arguing when Steve helps him get his pants off, while Sam squirms on the bed to pull off his shirt. Steve's so hard he's not sure how he's managing higher brain functions.

“What now?” Bucky asks, arm tucked behind his head and eyes closed. He looks relaxed even as his cock is thick and straining toward his stomach, and Steve's mouth waters a little. He shakes his head, trying to stay on track.

“Kiss him,” Steve says, stroking a hand over Sam's chest and down across his stomach.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Sam murmurs. He's unbearably gorgeous, and Bucky must agree, because his eyes open and he doesn't waste any time in plastering his own body over Sam's and slotting their mouths together. Steve suspects they're playing it up for his benefit, but they're both groaning, and that sounds as real as can be.

He climbs off the bed, dodging Bucky's hand that darts out to catch him, and Sam takes advantage of his distraction to flip them so he’s straddling Bucky’s hips. It only takes a quick fumble through Steve's nightstand to find the lube, which is half empty, and the condoms, which he furtively checks the expiration date on before sighing with relief. It might be a sad commentary on the state of his love life, if his love life weren't currently grinding together on his bed like they wanted to crawl inside each other.

When he climbs back up next to them, he slides a gentling hand up the inside of Bucky’s thigh, cock twitching at the eager way Bucky tries to tilt his ass up. He shifts again quickly to get back whatever friction Sam is giving him, but Steve can recognize an invitation. He opens the bottle of lube and pours some over his fingers, sliding them together to warm them up before pressing one against Bucky's hole.

For a moment, he has to pause to slow his breathing, and Bucky cranes his neck to look at him with concern.

“You okay, Stevie?”

Steve isn't irritated with Bucky, but he's a little irritated with himself, so rather than answering he just presses more firmly with his finger until Bucky opens up, letting him in.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Steve says with feeling as he pushes in further before easing his finger back. Bucky's hips jerk, chasing it, and Sam risks a glance at Sam and Bucky. He grins when he sees Bucky's face pressed into Sam's chest, Sam stroking fingers through Bucky's hair as he watches Steve over his shoulder. Steve leans in to kiss down Sam’s spine as he works Bucky open, and Sam shudders under him.

“He's doing good, huh?” Sam asks, arching his back a little. Bucky makes a broken sound underneath him.

Steve nods, but Sam raises his eyebrows until Steve manages to croak, “Real good, Buck,” as he pushes back in with a second finger. The noise Bucky makes then lives somewhere between a moan and a sigh, and it makes Steve's heart beat faster. He tries to keep his breathing under control as he works Bucky open, forehead resting against the hot skin of Sam’s back and eyes focused on the movement of Bucky's hips to gauge when he's ready for another finger. Finally, Bucky is digging his fingers into the comforter like he can't stand it.

“Enough,” Bucky says, and Steve freezes. “I'm ready,” he clarifies, which is a relief. Steve pulls his fingers out a little faster than he should, wincing when Bucky lets out a small, hurt noise.

“Bucky?”

“No, it's good, _please_.”

“Okay, come on,” Steve coaxes, tugging at his hips. “Let’s get you propped up, nice and comfortable.” Sam passes him a pillow as Bucky plants his feet and pushes his hips up, and Steve feels a little dizzy. Sam seems to know what Steve’s wanting and shifts off of Bucky, kneeling near his head and wrapping a hand around himself. Bucky splays his legs apart, looking up through heavy lashes in what has to be a concerted effort to make Steve's heart stop.

“You just gonna sit there and look at me all day?” Bucky asks, and he reaches down to stroke himself. Steve nearly gasps when Sam catches his wrist, and Bucky outright groans.

“Can you be patient?” Sam asks, teasing. Bucky’s head flops back and he nods once, hair falling messy across the pillow.

Steve fumbles the condom on, grateful that Bucky’s eyes have fallen closed so can't see his hands shaking. Sam is watching him closely, but he's good enough not to comment; he just lets his eyes go all heavy and dark as Steve lines himself up with Bucky and begins his slow push in.

“Shit,” Bucky says, trying to push back, “ _shit_ , Stevie, please, come on.”

Steve's sure that he's red all the way down his chest, but he keeps going, fingers dragging through the sweat at the crease of Bucky’s thighs. Finally, what feels like hours later, he's gone as far as he can go, and his bony hips are pressed against the swell of Bucky's ass.

“God, Buck,” he says, “you're incredible.” He pulls out and tries thrusting back in gently, feeling just a little smug when Bucky gasps, meeting his eyes before they flutter shut. “Are you gonna show Sam some attention?”

He looks at Sam as he says it, and Sam glances down at Bucky, eyebrows raised before he slides a leg across Bucky’s body to straddle his chest. Steve reaches out to drag his fingers down Sam’s spine; grinning when Sam sighs.

Steve doesn’t think either of them is expecting it when Bucky tugs Sam forward far enough to drag his tongue over Sam's asshole. The surprised noise Sam lets out is loud enough that Steve might be worried about the neighbors hearing, if he could bring himself to care. Bucky digs his fingers into Sam’s hip, and Steve sees him press his face to the inside of Sam’s thigh before he goes right back to work. Steve feels vaguely mournful that he can't quite see what Bucky's doing to make Sam's head fall back, but Bucky’s gone loose and boneless and Steve thrusts inside easily, like he's coming home.

Sam reaches back toward Steve, and Steve pushes Bucky’s knee up over his shoulder—the new angle dragging another moan out of Bucky—so his hand is free to catch Sam's fingers in his own. Holding hands is such a small thing in the midst of everything else they’re doing, but Sam shudders, squeezing Steve’s fingers and grinding down onto Bucky’s face with a stuttering gasp. Steve is acutely aware of the noises they're making—the slap of his hips as he thrusts into Bucky, the filthy wet noises Bucky's making between Sam's legs—and he realizes there’s no way that he’ll last much longer.

It's a miracle he's lasted as long as he has, honestly, and he reaches down to wrap fingers around Bucky, who's hot and hard and leaking all over the bed.

Bucky groans deep in his throat, and his pale fingers dig into the muscle of Sam’s right thigh, curling so that Steve can see them. Sam looks back at Steve again, eyes dark and shining, and Steve jerks forward involuntarily, a harsh thrust that has Bucky crying out and Steve emptying himself with a gasp into Bucky’s tight heat.

He falls back, catching his breath and ready to apologize, because he'd hoped to get Bucky off first, or to see Bucky get Sam off, but Bucky's already shifting Sam gently to the side, pushing himself halfway to sitting to eye Steve with a sort of dazed concern. Sam looks bereft, and Steve can certainly understand.

“I'm fine,” Steve says with a shaky smile. “More than fine.”

Bucky watches him for a few seconds and nods slightly before smirking. “Good.” He turns his head and directs that look toward Sam, who swallows visibly. “Then be a sweetheart, and hand me another one of those condoms.”

“Oh, God,” Steve says, not even sure where Bucky's planning to take this but more than happy to facilitate it. He reaches for the strip of condoms, tearing another one off even as he slips the one off his dick and drops it into the trash, but when Bucky reaches for it impatiently, Steve shakes his head.

“Stevie, come on,” Bucky pleads, his imploring tone so familiar, and Steve thinks he'll never be able to hear Bucky ask for anything—not even for him to hand the remote control over—without getting at least half-hard.

“Nuh uh.” Steve pulls the condom out of reach. He looks between Sam and Bucky. “Who's wearing this?”

Sam blinks at him, mouth stretching into a grin. “His call,” he says, pointing to Bucky, and Bucky maneuvers himself up to a sitting position and points back at Sam. “Can you lie down for me?” he asks, and Sam obliges him without hesitation. He looks unbearably good, spread out on Steve’s bed like that.

“Okay,” Steve breathes, “okay.” He crawls over to Sam, stretching a leg across to straddle his thighs, and Sam curls himself upward in a frankly embarrassing display of his abs to drag Steve into a kiss. It's messy and sharp and tinged with desperation, and Steve returns it for just a minute before laying his hand on Sam's chest to push him back down onto the pillows.

“Come on,” Bucky says again, plastering himself against Steve's back with his chin hooked over Steve's shoulder to watch. His dick is slotted right between Steve's cheeks, his hips rocking mindlessly, and Steve shivers at the slow drag across his asshole.

“We're doing that next time,” Steve says with feeling. He can feel the smile Bucky presses into his shoulder. With another look at Sam, he tears the wrapper and rolls the condom over Sam's cock, giving it a few longing strokes. “This too,” he says, and Sam just grins up at him, warm and lazy, as if getting off isn’t even a priority.

“I think I could live with that,” he says. Bucky reaches his arm past Steve to stroke down Sam's side before clutching at his hip.

“You want him?” Steve asks Bucky, but he's still watching Sam, and they breathe “ _yes_ ” at the same time. He shifts off to the side as gracefully as he can, but he nearly tumbles over when Sam's hand shoots out to catch his wrist.

“Don't go too far,” he says, and Steve shakes his head.

“Wouldn't dream of it.” He leans in to kiss along Sam's shoulder. “Best view in the house.”

Bucky groans, possibly at Steve's line, but more likely at the way he's moved up to grind his ass against Sam. He doesn't waste any time, reaching behind him to take hold of Sam's cock before sliding down onto it, slick and easy, until he's seated all the way. Steve has a sudden flash of doing this without condoms, of Sam pushing into the mess Steve left behind, of Sam and Bucky both filling _him_ up, and his dick twitches just this side of painfully.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky moans, as Sam's grip tightens on Steve's wrist. Steve shifts their hands until their fingers are laced together again. “You can't say shit like that, Steve, I'm trying to last, here.”

 _Oh_ , Steve thinks, ears burning a little, but he can't be too embarrassed to have let those thoughts slip out when Bucky and Sam are so clearly on board.

“Sorry,” he says, but going by the look Bucky shoots him as he rocks on Sam's dick, he knows Steve is anything but. “I just think you'd look good like that, is all.”

“Shit,” Sam says. He reaches up to grip Bucky's hips, shifting his legs to give him some leverage to thrust up. “You don't need to worry about lasting,” he tells Bucky, “because— _oh_ —I'm sure as hell not going to.”

Bucky seems to take that as either encouragement or a challenge, because he starts fucking himself onto Sam even harder than before, his body arching like a goddamn work of art.

“God, Bucky,” Steve whispers, stroking down Sam's chest. “You're gonna get me hard again, lookin' like that. You gonna let me get inside you again, too?” It's all talk, as much as Steve wishes it were true, but it doesn’t matter. Bucky's eyes flutter shut as he comes all over himself with a gasp, a few stray drops landing on Sam's abs.

Steve isn't trying to accomplish anything in particular when he bends to lick down Sam's torso and catch them on his tongue, but Sam lets out a strangled moan and thrusts hard into Bucky's loose body before going still, his grip on Steve's hand almost painfully tight. Steve turns in time to get a glimpse of Sam's face when he comes, mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed shut, and feels something clench in his chest at how lucky he is.

It takes a minute or two for them all to disentangle, Steve taking care of the condom and wiping Bucky clean with Steve's own discarded boxers. They don't waste any time before tangling themselves together again, Bucky flopped onto his back and Steve and Sam curled up to either side of him.

“You know,” Steve says, tangling his fingers with Sam's and letting their hands rest on Bucky's stomach. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you planned this.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “This way you can wake me up every two hours without getting out of bed.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh. “Believe me, there's no way I could've hoped for this, much less made plans.” He frowns down at Steve. “Do you think you have a concussion?” he asks, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“Nah, I didn't get hit that hard.”

“I'm sure we could still try to get you up every two hours,” Sam says, waggling his eyebrows, and Steve can feel Bucky's chest shaking under them with a laugh.

“You know,” Bucky says, “you've got kind of a filthy mind for an angel.” He's grinning, stroking up and down Sam's spine, but Steve feels himself go still.

“So I guess you, uh.” They both look at him. “I mean, you did what you came here to do, right? You're going to have to leave.” He tries and fails not to sound too miserable about it, which is selfish, because he'd always just wanted Bucky, hadn't he? But everything feels different now, and he can’t imagine things feeling right without Sam. He swallows hard, choosing to look down at their hands rather than meet anyone's eyes.

Bucky looks as if he wants to say something—to argue, maybe—but doesn't know quite what he _can_ say. He gives Steve a reassuring nudge with his shoulder, and then Sam sighs expansively.

“I don't mean to be presumptuous at all here, and understand there's no obligations with this, but,” he says, then pauses. “I've kind of been thinking about retiring.”

Steve jerks his head up fast enough to feel a twinge in his neck, but he ignores it. He can see that Sam has Bucky's attention, too.

“You can do that?” Steve asks, but then he shakes his head. “You _can't_ do that. It's not just a job, it's your _life_.”

“It's been my life for a long time,” Sam says, “and I'm going to be honest. After what happened with Riley, I figured I was just going to keep going forever, because I didn't know what else to do. But I don't feel like that anymore.”

“How can you...” Bucky sits up, dislodging Sam and Steve's hands and shifting around so he's looking down at them both. Steve misses the warmth at his side immediately, but Sam reaches out and grabs his hand again. “This is why you've been sleeping all night,” he says. “And getting hungry more often. And _bleeding_ , for God's sake.” He shakes his head. “You can't give up being an angel,” he says. “Not for us. Why would you want to be vulnerable like that?”

“No,” Sam says, and he sounds a little impatient now. “You're missing the point; you're focusing on the wrong thing. It took me a long time to get it with Riley, but loving someone doesn't make you vulnerable. Loving you two doesn't make _me_ vulnerable. It makes me _human_.” He squeezes Steve's hand as he looks up at Bucky. “And as far as I'm concerned, that's a good thing.” Once the words are out, he seems to realize the gravity of his admission, but he doesn’t try to take it back.

“I think it's a good thing, too,” Steve says, surprised at how rough his voice sounds. His eyes are prickling, but he ignores them. “Come on, Bucky, it took us this long to get our acts together, and now we have something better than we could've thought of, and you're going to argue about it?”

Some of the tension visibly leaks out of Bucky. “No.” He reaches out, and seems to relax even further when Sam grabs his hand. “I just don't want you to... I want to make sure it's your decision. That we didn't mess things up for you.”

“It's absolutely my decision,” Sam tells him, scooting over closer to Steve and tugging at Bucky's hand. “Now, come on, it's my turn to be in the middle.”

Bucky makes a show of grumbling, but his mouth betrays him as it curls into a smile. Steve fits himself up against Sam's side this time, letting go of his hand in favor of dragging fingers across his stomach. He grins when Sam shivers.

“Humans get ticklish,” he observes, and Sam gives him a dirty look.

“Now, don't start that, Rogers.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Steve says, wide-eyed, and the conspiratorial look he shares with Bucky warms him through his chest. They've got plenty of time for that.

“Man, you're gonna be mad when you find out I'm only sticking around ‘til spring so I can try those semen pears.” Sam's looking at the ceiling as he says it, expression even, and Bucky chokes on his own spit.

“Christ, Stevie, what have you been telling him?”

“Only the good things,” Steve tells him, and he rolls away just long enough to shut off the lamp on the table and drag the comforter up over the three of them before curling back up to Sam. “Now, come on, I have plans for you two, and you're not going to be able to keep up if you don't get some sleep.”

He can just about _hear_ Sam's raised eyebrow, and Bucky snorts. “I wouldn't miss it,” he says, reaching his arm out curl a hand around Steve's back and pull him further on top of Sam. “You don't need to worry about that.”


End file.
